


Colors of my Heart

by sten06



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, One Shot, SO MUCH FLUFF, kara finally using her art skills, kara speaking through her canvas, no reason for this just cuteness, supercorp being adorable, the way their relationship evolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 15:59:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11234331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sten06/pseuds/sten06
Summary: A tribute to Kara's time in the art guild at Krypton. She uses her paintbrush to express her feelings for Lena Luthor.





	Colors of my Heart

_“Sometimes, little one, you may find that you struggle to speak – that your mouth can’t find the right words to say what you truly feel– and when that happens, you have to let your heart speak for you.” Her aunt is strong and poised, but has a glowing regal look when she speaks to Kara. It makes the younger Kryptonian sit up straight and listen with every fiber of her being, afraid to miss something important._

_“But how do I do that?” Kara asks, her eyes wide with wonder at the idea of being able to speak without words. It’s intriguing, an awe-inspiring pastime that she can’t wait to immerse herself in._

_Astra smiles._

_“You listen, and you paint with the brushes that move your soul. You tell a story with imagination and memory, with lines, and hues and shadows. You color it in with feeling. It’s why we have art in this world, to express our passion when nothing else will suffice.”_

_“I don’t know if I’ll be very good” Kara frowns, the doubt etched over her face as she ponders her talent_

_“You will be, Kara. It’s in your blood. You’re chosen for this.”_

* * *

When she first moves into her apartment in National City, the old wooden easel comes with her, a small token of the piece of creativity that lies dormant within her heart. She hasn’t painted in what feels like a lifetime, not since her first terrifying years on Earth when the only thing that would help soothe her nightmares were the colors on her canvas. In those days, the pieces all bore a striking resemblance – they burned with charcoal and brimstone, and had the orange glow of a world on the precipice of disaster – a striking and hellish tribute to Krypton’s final hours. When Kara didn’t paint Krypton, she painted swirls of shadowy grays and cold icy blues, swirled with terrifying, endless black, indicative of the colors of hopeless years spent waiting for anything in the phantom zone.

Now, with life far from normal, but more stable than her rocky beginning, the easel is tucked cheerfully behind the couch where it doesn’t distract but remains perfectly postured by an open window. The sunlight cascades over the blank canvas, illuminating the vast emptiness with long fingered shadows of possibility. For a studio apartment, the easel makes a nice piece of decor, a touch of creativity among concrete jungle aesthetic.

Kara barely notices it when she gets dressed in the morning, and only sometimes sees it when she returns from work. The easel is unassuming and joins her for dinner, and sits idly while she watches TV. It’s a forgotten guest at game night, and an improv clothes hanger when the closet is too far out of reach. It gets shuffled to the corner when extra chairs need to be added for friends, and it stands up to steel toes that fumble over it with clumsy speed. At night, it stares longingly out the window, wishing on stars, watching a world go by from it’s little corner of the room.

When Kara Danvers meets Lena Luthor, things begin to change.

Her grayscale chest begins to swirl with the colors she thought she had left behind forever. She feels the itch of unspeakable words begin to claw and prick at the back of her throat, aching to go somewhere, anywhere, too bold to stay contained, but too difficult for her tongue to form. Her mind gets consumed with chiseled, sharp, angles and various shades of red – the kind that screams a warning – reminiscent of bright plump snarky lips or thick rushing blood that pumps through an excited heart. She closes her eyes and sees nothing but violent hazels and varying hues of green, all imperfect matches for the eyes that puncture her core and leave her dazed and breathless at every encounter.

She stares at the easel finally, the paintbrush tingling in her hand, as she tentatively begins to stroke. She takes her time and tries to remember the feeling between her fingers, and connect it to her heart. She closes her eyes and feels the rhythm, sees the colors and follows the lines that form in front of her. She’s out of practice, but the rust falls off after several hours of deep concentrated thought. Before long, she has filled several blank slates with confusing shadows of haunted pasts and connected lines of tentative longing embraces.

Lena comes to Kara’s apartment for the first time and her eyes scan the studio like a hawk, absorbing every little detail as if her brain is automated to analyze every nook and cranny. Kara holds her breath, afraid of what she might find, the gaps in their new friendship glaring at her from every corner.

_She could afford to buy this entire building, and then some._

_Did I forget to clean the kitchen?_

_Oh, Rao, my stupid painting…_

Kara’s eyes follow Lena’s gaze as the CEO smiles at her softly. Kara notes how the lines in her face are less harsh and angular than when they first met, and instead blend to form a gently sculpted plane that hints at a shadowy softness. The light dances on her cheekbones, hitting them just right to bathe her in a flattering late afternoon glow. Kara wants to sit and paint every amber, every orange, every tint of reddish gold that she can from this moment, but she bites her lip and commits it to memory and waits. It won’t be easily forgotten.

Lena notices the easel, and her eyebrow shoots up in sensual delight.

“Kara, this is exquisite” she says, her voice breathy and filled with admiration. “I didn’t realize you were an artist as well as a journalist.”

Kara feels her cheeks burn, and immediately flees to the safety of her glasses, fiddling with them in a desperate attempt to dull her senses, just for a second. Just to stop the overload of all things Lena.

“Oh, I’m not an artist” she refutes, staring at the ground, desperate to avoid Lena’s intensely excited stare.

“I remember hearing a similar line before” she quips, her lips forming a soft smirk. “ You’re just full of surprises, Kara Danvers.” Lena continues to study the work with an appreciation that Kara feels deep in her bones to be genuine. It makes her heart stumble and her lips quiver and she’s reminded of the first week on Earth when every sense was heightened to an almost unbearable degree.

Lena Luthor makes her feel like her superpowers have superpowers, and it sounds like a lot, because it is.

That night, she paints Lena’s face in full for the first time, capturing her mind’s eye view and the way the sunset’s golden caramel rays peek through densely rich chocolate hair. She runs her fingers carefully over every chiseled feature, blurring edges gently as Lena’s likeness spills over the canvas. She tumbles over full lips, and the indent of a dimpled smirk. She shades and contours symmetrical cheek bones, and studies the curved edges of where her jaw meets the lines of her neck. She traces the hollow of her throat, and aches to press her lips to the delicately drawn collarbones that slightly protrude from the page. Finally she agonizes over the bewitchingly green eyes, the ones she sees in her dreams, the ones she can’t seem to get perfectly right now matter how hard she tries. She doesn’t know what it all means, because she’s painting with her heart and not her head, but when she’s finished, she feels like it’s the closest thing she has to having her.

Lena’s visits to her apartment become more frequent, and Kara falls into a pattern of expressing all her tucked away feelings through her artwork. The canvas speaks louder than any words she can say, and Lena understands. She doesn’t push for explanations. She sees, and studies and smiles. It’s almost like she knows the language Kara speaks, because she has one of her own.

On good days, the easel is alive with bright sunrises, and city skylines, and hopeful cheery fantasy landscapes. The colors are vibrant, the lines are smooth, and Lena’s eyes brighten when she glances in the corner and notices another brilliant piece of work.

On not-so-good days, the easel is cloudy with depth and shadows, angry lines and abstract shapes. Sometimes, Kara will draw narrow alleys and dark corners, reminiscent of nightmares, or particularly grueling missions as Supergirl. Sometimes she will simply not paint at all, and on those days Lena is extra careful, her words extra gentle.

When Kara finally decides to tell Lena her secret, she bares the part of her that always stood in the way of their friendship to truly form a circle of trust. It comes on the ends of a paintbrush, forming the iconic symbol of the house of El, being slightly exposed by several open buttons. Lena stares at the painting for what seems like hours, before she clicks her tongue and looks at Kara with hurting, but hopeful eyes.

“It’s really you?” she whispers, turning back to the easel and tracing over the crest on the page.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner” Kara says, watching her carefully, afraid to say too much.

Lena nods, and carefully walks over to Kara and removes her glasses. Her green eyes mix with Kara’s blue, and she smiles sadly. After she leaves in a cloud of melancholy, Kara paints the feeling over and over and over until Lena sends her flowers – freesias and white chrysanthemums – her own symbol of truth and trust. Kara’s heart skips several beats, as she paints the flowers, and the colors turn more hopeful in front of her.

A few weeks later, when Lena softly knocks on the door, she’s painting Krypton for the first time in too many years. The canvas is bathed in soft amber light, and blurred edges, like the corners of a dream, and Kara is trying to remember a time before the end. It’s the first time she’s her true self around Lena, and it’s fitting that her home is proudly displayed for both of them to reflect on. Lena sits and watches her, and doesn’t interrupt, content to keep her company while she gets lost in another world.

“This is where I learned to paint” Kara says quietly, as she surveys her work with a critical eye, adding dabs of color and smoothing out the final lines. “I was part of the art guild on Krypton.”

Lena hums, watching in unmistakable fascination.

Kara clears her throat, and begins to talk about her parents, and her home, and all the things she wishes she could have achieved if fate hadn’t landed her here. She’s grateful to be on Earth, she tells Lena, but sometimes there are heavy moments of nostalgia, plagued with what-ifs, that need to be let out.

Lena doesn’t judge, she nods encouragingly and places a supportive hand on Kara’s strong shoulder.

“Sometimes it’s easier to speak with your heart, isn’t it?” and the words sound so much like her aunt’s that Kara can feel the tears sting behind her eyes.

She nods, and takes a deep, shaky breath, and Lena leans closer, as if sensing the need for her presence.

“Is there anything you can’t do, Supergirl?” she whispers, and Kara’s entire body shivers with the way her lips come dangerously close to her ear.

From then on, Kara and Lena subconsciously begin a new kind of pattern. The paintings seem to ebb and flow with the tides of their ever-evolving relationship.

Kara paints the flowers that remind her of Lena, the snowy white plumerias that sit on her desk, and all the flowers she sends to Kara for all varying occasions. She paints flowers because they’re sensual, soft, and beautiful, and they represent all the incredible things that make up Lena Luthor.

When Kara can’t stand it anymore, she confesses the feelings that threaten to erupt with every passing second using oil paints and hope. She paints abstract figures dancing over beautiful landscapes, she paints lush pink lips colliding with ruby red, she paints golden blonde hair and raven black, and she finally paints the hazel eyes that have given her so much grief, landing on the almost perfect color to get it close to the real thing.

“Kara, these are….” Lena’s breath is rushed, and Kara can hear her heartbeat thumping rapidly. “This is how I feel when I look at you.” She finishes her sentence, and Kara’s eyes search her for permission, before stepping into her space and filling her hands with tendrils of long hair, pulling Lena close and finally closing the distance between their lips.

After their first date, Kara paints every happy excited feeling she can, but none of it can even come close to the giddiness she feels at finally being with Lena. She paints the stars, and bright, swirling galaxies, and she paints silly, fantastic landscapes that make her heart hum. The lines are cheerful, and her cheeks ache with the long lasting smile plastered on her face as a result of all the good in her life.

When they have their first time, Kara wakes up early and wraps her body in a white sheet, careful not to disturb the raven haired beauty still softly sleeping in her bed. She sits by the sunlit window and uses charcoal to outline the intricacies of Lena’s hands, and the long elegant lines of her torso. She plays with the light, using a chiaroscuro technique to highlight the delicate curves of her breasts. She runs her hands along Lena’s body on the easel, feeling the sparks and committing every small detail to memory, until she hears a rustling behind her and a throaty voice begging her to come back to bed. She smiles and allows herself to get pulled away from her artistic vision, because she absolutely can’t deny the real thing when it beckons.

After their first big fight, Lena arrives at Kara’s doorstep with flowers and an apology, only to be greeted by a broken hearted canvas filled with bolts of violent lightning and dark menacing clouds carrying the petulant gloominess of a lonely storm.

“I’m so sorry” Kara whispers, and Lena’s lips turn up in instant understanding, accepting the token of peace and falling into a tight, soul grabbing hug.

“Me too” she says with enthusiasm as she reiterates.

They hold each other close and whisper all through the night, making up for lost days by filling in the gaps with secrets and hopeful dreams.

“You’re the reason I started painting again.” Kara speaks quietly under the moonlight with Lena carefully wrapped in her arms. Her dark hair is splayed over Kara’s chest, as she runs her fingers through it softly.

Lena shifts slightly and raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I painted a little when I first got here, but it was mostly out of fear. I was so scared, and everything was overwhelming. But eventually, all my colors faded to black. I lost my spark – I lost my feeling. I was busy hiding everything about myself that I forgot how to use my heart. When I met you… it felt like I woke up. I couldn’t stop my hands from filling every canvas in the room.”

Kara feels Lena’s heart dip, and she feels the soft kisses she presses to her collarbone. It’s the closest she’s come to saying the words she truly wants to say, and she knows Lena feels the depth in their meaning.

She finally manages to tell her a few weeks later, when she shows her all the paintings she’s done where Lena is the muse. She shows her the way the color of her eyes seem to take center stage in every piece, no matter the subject. Kara explains her attempts to capture Lena’s indomitable spirit with bold lines and strong colors, and the way she tries to draw the delicately sculpted features in her face as if she’s running her fingers over every detail just to be closer to her when Lena isn’t around. She shows her the sketches she’s done when they’ve been idly working together in Lena’s office during the afternoons, when Kara is distracted by the way the light hits Lena just right, as if begging to be captured on paper.

The tears fall down Lena’s face, and Kara wipes them gently.

“I love you” she says for the first time, but it feels natural now, after all the ways she’s said it before.

“I love you too, Kara” 

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on tumblr @stennnn06 aka the luthor mansion


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